Chapter Text
The morning after the party was brutal. Although Whitney woke up in her room, she had only managed to sleep for a couple of hours. Her head was pounding from all the alcohol, her throat was dry, and her entire body felt weak—a stark reminder of how wild the night had been. Every movement was a struggle, as if the very air was resisting her efforts to get out of bed. The hangover clung to her like a heavy blanket, and standing up in such a state felt like a heroic feat.
But there was no choice—it was time to hurry to class. Despite the popular belief that this school had long ceased to be a school for real education, Whitney wanted to excel in at least a few subjects. Her stubbornness had saved her more than once. Hastily pulling herself together, she threw on clean clothes, grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the nightstand—not so much for fashion's sake, but to hide her puffy, sleep-deprived eyes—and hurried to class, mentally cursing her former self.
During class, she had to fight off an overwhelming wave of sleepiness. Several times she dozed off, but Runa, who was sitting next to her, nudged her in the side. Whitney winced, straightened her shoulders, and tried to pretend to listen.
- If you doze off like that during a student council meeting, - Runa whispered with a grin, squinting from under her bangs, - Kira won't pat you on the head for it.
Whitney simply sighed loudly, too tired to snap back, and cast a distracted glance at Riri, who was sitting across the aisle. Riri clearly noticed that something was wrong, the slight rise of her eyebrows and the sympathetic look in her eyes giving it away.
- I hope she'll be lenient with me, - Whitney muttered with a wry smile. - After all, we danced together last night.
With these words, she leaned back in her chair again, hiding her eyes behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, silently begging for the day to fly by as quickly as possible.
Whitney closed her eyes, as if trying to shut out the world, but fragments of last night suddenly came flooding into her consciousness: bright, disjointed, saturated with bass and flashing lights.
Kira was there, too, looking stern even on the dance floor, though she held a drink and wore a rare, genuine smile. Whitney caught her eye—sharp, appraising, unmistakable—and, for no apparent reason, winked. Kira simply shook her head... but didn't look away.
And then...there came a moment when everything seemed to go quiet. The music was still blaring, but for Whitney it faded into the background. She stood by the window, looking out at the campus lights, her eyes half-closed, feeling the alcohol settle in her thoughts.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder—maybe Riri, maybe someone else—but at that moment it didn't matter. She felt alive.
The bell rang after class, pulling Whitney out of her thoughts. She flinched, opening her eyes again as the harsh light cut through the windows. Her sunglasses didn't help. Her head was pounding. So were the memories.
- Still alive? - Runa raised an eyebrow.
- Hardly, - Whitney croaked with a wry smile. - But the night was worth it.
She wasn't sure if she regretted it. Not yet.
By this time the hallways were empty: most of the students had gone their separate ways, some to clubs, some to their rooms, and some, like Whitney and Runa, were heading to the place they least wanted to go: the student council room.
Whitney's temples rang loudly with each step. She walked slowly, trying not to look at the bright light streaming through the tall windows. She still had her sunglasses on, but they were no longer helping—there was no hiding from reality.
- Are you sure you'll make it to the end? - Runa asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her steps were light and sure, unlike Whitney's heavy, almost drunken gait.
- No, - Whitney croaked, twirling the lollipop Runa had kindly given her in her cheek. - But if I die in the middle of a meeting, I want Kira to come to my funeral in that stunning blue dress, Whitney smirked, causing a quiet chuckle.
Playing along, Runa smiled and opened the door first.
The student council room was spacious and formal: dark wood walls, polished tables gleaming in the dim light, and a Spade House flag fluttering in the corner. Kira stood behind the table, tall and graceful, exuding such authority and confidence that the room immediately went cold. Her gaze darted to the newcomers.
The other members of the council were also present - Dori, Suki and Chad. Riri stood next to Kira, her eyes calm and piercing, as if reading everyone's thoughts.
Whitney immediately felt Riri's gaze on her - not cold, but attentive, deep, as if penetrating into the very soul. Something pierced Whitney from within, like an arrow - not fear, but an inexplicable desire, an almost painful hunger.
She wanted to hide behind her sunglasses again, but instead her eyes hungrily followed Riri's every move—the way she stood calmly and confidently, the way she easily controlled the space around her.
Her dry throat tightened even more as Whitney noticed what Kira was wearing: a black silk robe draped softly over her shoulders, and a blue silk nightgown that clung softly to her waist and hips, emphasizing every curve. She was the embodiment of forbidden desire, at once soft and untouchable. Whitney's head tilted forward slightly, her lips parting involuntarily, a spark of warmth lighting her eyes.
Next to Kira, a girl — her "house pet" — was diligently pinning needles. It seemed as if Kira was preparing to sew a new outfit or a school uniform, and this small ritual looked both strange and fascinating.
- Good afternoon, - Kira said slowly and deliberately formally. - I'm glad that all the council members found the strength to come.
Whitney plopped down into the chair with a satisfied grin, her hands shaking slightly.
- Well, well, even a hangover won't stop me from seeing you, Miss President.
Kira smiled slightly, twitching her lips, about to answer, when suddenly she screamed:
— Oh!
The girl, who had needles in her mouth and one in her hand, suddenly pulled away - she had accidentally pricked Kira. Everyone in the room fell silent, staring at them.
A moment of silence - then Riri quickly walked up to the girl, covered her mouth with her hand and pushed the needles she was holding between her lips straight into her mouth. The girl muttered something, trying to resist, but Riri let her go. Whitney frowned in mild disgust as the girl leaned over the table, blood dripping from her mouth and several needles falling to the floor.
But there was a fire burning inside Whitney. It was dangerous to play with them, and she felt it more than ever at that moment, because she was playing a double game, balancing on the edge.
Her gaze, full of unconscious desire and admiration, slid slowly over Kira and Riri. Kira remained calm, graceful, and majestic—she did not raise a hand to protect herself; she was above pain. Riri—with her cool confidence, ruthless determination, and keen attention—seemed like an unwavering protector whose presence both frightened and awakened something deeper in Whitney.
She leaned forward slightly, her lips trembling as if she wanted to say something too bold, but instead she whispered:
- Well, - Whitney said quietly, smiling, - I won't lie... it was kind of hot, Riri. But all this damn blood is making me sick again.
Runa smiled, looking at her with a mixture of admiration and understanding in her eyes. Dori chuckled, watching as the girl covered her mouth and hurried out of the room.
Whitney, without taking her eyes off Kira and Riri, felt a flame blaze in her chest - a desire to be closer, to become a part of this world where power, passion and danger were intertwined.
Kira gracefully tossed her silky black locks off her shoulder and sat down in her chair as if nothing had happened, instantly taking control of the room. Her cool yet captivating gaze took in everyone present, and she calmly opened the meeting.
- How are things going with these side bets? - Kira asked, her voice even, but with a hidden strength and interest.
Whitney immediately perked up and spoke, a challenge in her voice.
- Runa and I are trying to figure out who created them. Rats are good at hiding, - she shrugged slightly, rocking in her chair, not taking her eyes off Kira, - catching those who participate in the bets is useless, because the whole school makes side bets...
She paused, as if carefully weighing her words, and then added with firm confidence:
- I would suggest legalizing these bets. That's the only way we can control them. No one will stop betting, but we could get our share.
Runa sighed quietly, leaned back in her chair and played with a strand of hair, watching Kira's reaction.
- Or why don't we just kill the creator of the side bets? - she said calmly, with a barely noticeable smirk, as if it were a simple, ordinary idea.
Whitney couldn't help but laugh out loud, snapping her fingers in the air to emphasize the boldness of the proposal.
- Well, Runa's proposal suits me too. So it's up to you, Miss President, - she said with a barely noticeable playful intonation, teasing Kira with her nickname and voice.
Kira listened without interrupting, slightly tilting her head to the side, as if assessing not so much the words as the speakers themselves. There was no surprise or approval in her gaze, only a calm, focused attention, like that of a predator who has already decided who will survive and who will not.
She slowly placed her hand on the armrest, her fingers tapping softly on the dark wood, and finally spoke.
- Killing someone is too loud. And I don't like it when something disturbs my silence.
At this, Riri leaned forward slightly, crossing her arms on the table, her eyes fixed on Whitney. A subtle spark passed between them. It wasn't a judgmental look, it was a challenge. Whitney caught it immediately: in Riri's eyes, she read: I see the way you look at her.
Kira's gaze shifted from Runa to Whitney, lingering for a moment longer. Her eyes were naked, burning into Whitney's skin. Whitney didn't look away, not out of defiance, but because she simply couldn't.
- But your... initiative, - Kira grinned slightly, - deserves attention.
Riri remained still, but one finger slowly traced the edge of the table. Whitney suddenly realized — that gesture wasn't random. It was a signal. But even so, Whitney squared her shoulders, holding Kira's and Riri's gaze. Her heart was beating too fast.
Kira leaned back in her chair with casual grace, interlacing her fingers in front of her.
— Legalization is a rational step. And if you really manage to trace the source, it will be... worthily rewarded.
There was silence, and then her voice became quieter and darker:
- But, Morozova... - she said the name almost intimately, smoothly and dangerously, - be careful with your tone when you tease someone... Not all of my claws are visible.
Whitney let out a quiet breath, as if someone had run a blade across her nerves.
Without changing her expression beneath the mask, Riri slowly ran a finger down her wrist, knowing full well that Whitney was watching. It wasn't a threat—it was control. And desire. Or power. Or both.
Kira straightened up, her tone returning to businesslike: "Very well. Continue observation. I expect a report in a week. You are all free to go."
And in that moment, Whitney realized that she had not just fallen into the sisters' trap - she herself was reaching out to it, eager to be caught.
A thick, overwhelming sense of unease rose in Whitney's throat. Parents' Day at St. Dominic's was in two days. A formality for some, but for her it was like a sudden twist in her chest. She couldn't quite put her finger on what she was waiting for, but deep down she felt it: something dangerous was coming. Her intuition, like a predator lurking in the shadows, had never failed her. Especially in remission. Especially when something inside, something her mother had wanted to keep locked away—under control, out of sight, away from prying eyes and sparks—was stirring again. And she had almost managed to keep it that way after a few sessions with a psychologist. But the catalyst could have been anything.
Whitney had a fire burning inside her since she was a child. She could be funny, charming, captivating with just one look. But when she was angry, she didn't just lose control – she erased all boundaries. She could destroy. Smile – and shoot. What saved her was that she was in Spaded house, and Suki didn't play "Icebreaker" with her. Otherwise, her dirty secrets, her problems with the law would have surfaced. Even Suki understood that under this ocean of ice, under the smooth surface, there could be the tip of the iceberg. But Kira... she was the one who could melt this ice, light the fire. And Riri – she was her weak spot. Quiet. Dangerous. Almost like home.
Everything went wrong when a black Cadillac pulled into the compound. Whitney stood with Kira and the other members of the student council. She took a drag on her cigarette, the smoke sliding across the roof of her mouth, calming, almost familiar. But what came out of the car shattered that calm. A boy. Smooth, well-groomed, polished from head to toe. One of those who smelled of money and daddy connections. Thin, blond, too arrogant to be humble, too shallow to be truly dangerous. But to Whitney, he was like a leech attached to the wrong body.
- Hello, darling Kira, - his voice slid out like a thick daub. He reached out and, without waiting for an answer, took Kira's hand. - It's me, George. Your father said he invited me here? He said he'd be glad to see us... together. Not just on Parents' Day.
Everything froze.
Her breath was gone. Her body was numb. And inside... inside, a fire flared up.
Anger hit her chest like an explosion. Sharp, pure, primal. It climbed up her throat, burned her lungs, pounded her temples.
"Darling." The word pierced Whitney's ear like a siren's cry. Something inside her cracked, like glass shattering. Her breathing grew thin, the world slowed. Everything came together: that voice, that scene, that hand touching HER Kira.
She narrowed her eyes as he came closer, already annoyed. Not really—on an animal level. He just shouldn't be there. She wasn't thinking. She saw his face twist under the blow, his body go flying down the porch steps, blood smearing the stairs. She saw her hand grab his—the one that had dared to touch him—and break it, her fingers giving way like cracking ice. And then... the gun. A soft click, and there was a hole in his head. And by all the gods, she really had her grip on her gun.
She froze. No emotion on her face, not a single wrinkle, not a hint of the storm inside. But inside her chest, a hurricane was howling. The only thing that didn't stop was Riri's gaze. She was looking right at her. Whitney didn't know if she was watching her disintegrate, or just watching with interest. Maybe she knew.
- Let's not stand outside, - George said again, his voice dripping with mockery. - We'll have to get to know each other better.
He turned, leading Kira away, and she followed him, calmly, evenly, as if it didn't matter. As if she could just be picked up and taken. Whitney couldn't move. She couldn't even scream. The anger wasn't just intense. It was primal, animalistic. It was a hunger born of pain. And the catalyst was jealousy .
Only a touch on her elbow pulled her out of the darkness. It was Riri. Slowly, with excitement in her eyes, she pointed at Whitney's hand.
And now did Whitney notice: the cigarette had burned down to the filter. She clenched it so tight it burned her fingers. And she felt nothing. No pain. Only one thought: She had never wanted to kill anyone this badly in her life.
Her legs carried her to her room on their own. Heat pulsed in her chest, her breath came in short, ragged bursts, like scorching needles crawling down her throat. Was it a panic attack? No. This was worse. Much worse. Something inside Whitney had opened—something dark, primal, without a name or a face. Like a beast, finally freed after years in a locked cage.
She burst into her room, then straight into the bathroom. She slammed to a stop at the sink, turned the cold water on full blast, and splashed it over her face. The ice burned her skin, but she needed it—anything to calm the blaze. She looked up at the mirror—and nearly recoiled.
That wasn't Whitney staring back. It wasn't human. It was pure rage, a storm of shadow in her eyes. It looked like wrath had taken on flesh.
Kira Timurov. It was all because of Kira. The flash. The strike.
Her knuckles slammed into the mirror. The glass cracked and shattered, scattering across the floor. The fury flared again—like fire ripping through dry grass. Whitney couldn't stop herself. She wrecked everything—bottles, shelves, the faucet, the soap dish. Everything went flying. She didn't scream—she growled, a raw, guttural snarl torn from the depths of her throat. Then, breathless, she sank to the cold tile floor, barely registering the blood on her hands.
Thoughts crawled through her mind in time with her pounding heart. She'd almost gone after George. Almost. To strangle him. To do to him what her mind now painted in vivid, deliberate detail—cold, ruthless, exact.
With trembling, bloodied fingers, she fumbled for her phone. Only one person could understand. Only one never judged her—had always accepted her for what she was. Her uncle. Julius.
— Come on... pick up... please... — she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. — If you don't, I swear... I'll lose control...
The ringing stopped.
— There she is! My favorite niece finally remembered me! — Julius voice rang with cheer. — Hey, sweetheart! How's school? Already knocked everyone on their asses?
Whitney exhaled sharply, her voice shaking.
— Hi. I really need your help right now, please... I feel awful... The flare is back, and I really want to... kill. — Whitney's voice trembled slightly, barely holding it together.
— Are you alone? How bad is it? — her uncle asked immediately, his tone turning serious in a heartbeat. If anyone knew this state, it was him. A hereditary mental illness. The Morozov's curse.
— Очень плохо. Я боюсь, что я не сдержусь... (Rus. Really bad. I thought I wouldn't hold back. I don't know what to do. I just can't...) — Whitney spoke in Russian, staring at the wounds on her knuckles. The pain helped her focus.
— He touched what 's mine , and for that... I'm ready to destroy.
- The most important thing now is to think clearly. Everything will be fine. You will kill him, my dear. As I taught you, revenge always finds its way. Sometimes you just need a little patience. I will help you. Do not be afraid.
- Julius, come here... Go to that damn school... Please. Don't tell Mom. Don't tell Dad. I want you to come to Parents' Day, - she said again, slowly getting up from the floor and walking towards the broken mirror.
— Я приеду. (Rus. I'll be there.) I'll be there tomorrow morning, don't worry. Just wait for me, okay? I'll help you do everything right. You'll get rid of this bastard, no matter what he did. I'm on your side. Always. Remember that?
Whitney smiled for the first time in a long time, her tired eyes staring into the cracked mirror. She exhaled, feeling the rage inside her finally calm, for now. Slowly, she began to wash the blood off her hands, then quickly took off her shirt, leaving her in just a tank top and pants. Her uncle would be here tomorrow, and everything would be okay. It was supposed to be that way.